I never knew
by LadyNightRunner
Summary: In the aftermath of Jenova, two young men hide, hurt and frightened. When Tseng finds them, he gets alot more than he bargained for, what with Loz wanting to 'play' and Yazoo mourning his lost brother. What's a Turk to do? Call for backup of course!
1. Picking up Strays

Yeah, well...there are all those 'one or more of the remnants survives and he...yaddayadda...usually culminating in some form of romance.' I did my own take on 'em. I've got two, and an unsuspecting guardian to play with. Ciao!

* * *

When Yazoo woke up, it was to pain. Fierce, burning, acid pain worse than anything, even the explosion he seemed to have survived. His eyes opened to ashes and metal; he was still on a roof, though what roof and how long he'd been there were questionable. There was a steady sound, like tiny feet pattering over everything, and then he felt the drops hitting his back, and he knew it was raining. He also knew that, somehow, the rain was the source of the burning.

He rolled onto his back, wincing as the pressure exerted on various injuries changed. Raindrops fell onto his unprotected face, burning where they hit. Why? Of course. The LifeStream was purging the geostigma from the Planet. This, in turn, meant that it was also trying to purge him as well, an impossible task. His very _being_ could not be purified without killing him. Which was what it felt like. He managed to tuck one hand underneath his body, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Now he could see the effect of the rain, patches and drops of glowing green that were slowly burning through the leather covering him. In places, the caustic purity had already eaten its way through the leather, and was now working on the ultimate goal of 'cleansing' him. The only thing the rain did not affect was his hair; while the long silver tresses were soaking wet and stained with blood, they showed no sign of actual damage.

"Y-Yazoo." Someone near him spoke. It was a deep voice, rough with pain. It was also as familiar as his own.

"Loz?"

"I can't see you brother. Where are you?"

"Right here. Loz, can you see?"

"Yes."

"Can you stand?" There was a long pause, followed by a grunt and the soft squeaking of wet leather on metal. Then Loz's shadow fell across Yazoo. He looked even worse than Yazoo did, probably because he'd shoved his younger brother behind him when Cloud attacked.

"Can you?" Loz asked. His voice shook with almost desperate laughter. Yazoo smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think so. Help me?" Loz nodded, and bent to take Yazoo's outstretched hand. Pulling him to his feet was another matter. Loz's strength was practically nothing now, and Yazoo's weight was almost enough to take them both back down onto the roof. Once standing, Yazoo had to support Loz, because he hadn't broken any bones in his legs, and Loz certainly had.

"Now what?"

"We get out of this cursed rain. Come on." They made their slow, careful way across the roof, avoiding places that looked weak. Loz stumbled often, and bit back cries of pain, but he couldn't keep the tears from running down his cheeks and mixing with the rain. Then they fell, right through the roof when a shadow concealed the hole. Yazoo went first, and pulled Loz down after him.

Either they were blessed with the most obstinate luck in the history of it, or someone had other plans for them, assuming the shock of falling didn't kill them first. Whatever had broken the hole in the roof had continued all the way down to the basement, most of which was full of water. Thankfully, it wasn't tainted by the LifeStream, but it was deep, and Loz couldn't swim. To make matters worse, Yazoo had hit something on the way down, leaving him with a nasty gash in his right side and what he knew were broken ribs. This made dragging a soggy Loz out of the water and onto a pile of what seemed to be bolts of fabric- their hiding place must have housed a tailor or something- even harder.

Yazoo shrugged his jacket off and draped it over Loz, then burrowed down under what might have been corduroy and fell asleep.

Tseng was out, patrolling. Nothing much was going on in the city at the moment, the scare of three days before keeping most people inside unless leaving was necessary. His route took him into the ruins that the majority of the heavy fighting had taken place in. Although he doubted there was anything bigger than a rat living here at the moment, he checked the monitor he carried measure heat. He was right. Rats there were, and…what was that? He checked the battery, only to find that it was almost fully charged. Again, Tseng looked at the screen. It showed two readings, one apparently a more-or-less normal human, and the other seemingly human, but with a body temperature that didn't seem right. According to the monitor, they were in the building to his left.

The door was locked, so Tseng kicked it down. Inside were the remains of a tailor's shop. Tseng checked the screen again. Assuming that it wasn't on the fritz, the pair was several yards beneath his feet, probably a basement. The stairs were hidden in the room behind the counter. As soon as he was halfway down them, the smell of a flooded basement hit him like a slap in the face. He hadn't been enthusiastic about this in the first place, but now he _really _didn't want to do it.

"Duty calls." He sighed, and took the remaining stairs two at a time.

Most of the basement was under one to four feet of water. While carefully navigating the floor, Tseng discovered that part of the back of the basement dropped down quite suddenly; he went totally under and came up spluttering.

The spot he was looking for was near the south wall, and getting to it did not require crossing the deep part of the basement. It seemed to be on the high end of a slope caused by something –probably debris from the fighting- hitting the floor and making the concrete buckle. There was a pile of fabric bolts there, and here also was his target. When Tseng flipped on the flashlight he always carried, he nearly fell back into the water. Lying on the pile were two of the last people he'd ever expected to see alive again.

The big, burly one –Loz, wasn't it? - was curled protectively around his brother, the lean, willowy one who gave off an air of distinct feminism. This one was rolled up tightly and shaking, despite the two jackets that were covering him. Loz's eyes widened when he saw Tseng, and he pulled himself to his knees, serving as a protective barrier between Tseng and Yazoo.

"Don't touch him." Loz growled. Tseng noted the myriad of scabbed-over cuts and fading bruises scattered over his skin, accompanied by a handful of more serious injuries; the way he dragged his right leg had to be a break of some kind. The he noticed something else. These…well, the only word was _boys…_ they couldn't have been older than Reno, if that. Yazoo couldn't have been older than 17 or so.

"How long have you been down here?" Tseng asked gently. He surprised himself. Why did he care? They were dangerous, had tried to kill the President, had tried to kill his Turks, had tried to kill _him_…but now, seeing them weak and confused and alone…his heart went out to them.

"Why do you care?" Loz asked, curious in spite of himself.

"I have no idea. Answer the question."

"Three days." Three _days_? Then they'd been here since the fight…

Behind Loz, Yazoo whimpered. Loz turned to him, giving Tseng time to think. The youngest one had been the real problem, and he obviously wasn't here… there was room in his apartment –was this his own personal version of insanity?- and his medical abilities should be enough to treat them…

"What's wrong with him?" Loz spun back around, eyes blazing.

"Stay away from my brother!" he yelled. Tseng didn't move. "Don't…_please_." Loz started to cry, and Tseng didn't know how to handle it.

"I want to help." He said softly, not wanting to initiate a fight.

"Why?" The youth sniffled, rubbing furiously at the tears.

"I really don't know, kid, I just do. I can't just _leave_ you two down here. Now, I'll ask again: what's wrong with him?" Loz eyed him for a moment, then moved to one side, allowing Tseng to scramble onto the pile and get a better look at Yazoo.

"I don't know. He's hot, but he says he's cold, and he has a cough, and…he won't wake up now." Loz whimpered. Tseng leaned over Yazoo, examining him carefully. He definitely had a fever. Cautious lifting of the jackets covering Yazoo revealed a nasty, infected mess that might have been a slash of some sort when it was inflicted. It was likely that it and the spectacular soaking they had no doubt received upon arriving in the basement had coupled to result in Yazoo's present condition.

"Your name?"

"Huh?"

"Your name. What are you called?"

"Oh. My brothers call me Loz, and that's Yazoo. Who are you?"

"Tseng. Loz, I need to move Yazoo, okay?" Loz flinched, and Tseng prayed there wouldn't be an argument.

"W-why?"

"He's very sick, Loz. I'm going to take him home with me and care for him."

"Can I come?"

"I wouldn't be so cruel as to separate you two. Come on, you first."

It was an interesting trip up the stairs with about six feet of solid muscle leaning heavily on him, but Tseng was a Turk, so he didn't complain. Once Loz was sitting in the passenger seat of Tseng's car, Tseng returned to Yazoo. Moving him was easier. Once Yazoo was in his arms, he clung to Tseng's jacket. Tseng carried him up the stair and to the car, then wrapped Yazoo in the blanket he kept in the trunk, laid the teenager across the back seats, and headed home. Loz fell asleep. Tseng had a feeling that he'd been trying not to sleep so he could watch over his brother. Yippee. Another body to haul up to his apartment.

Tseng was right. Getting Yazoo inside was easy, but wrestling Loz up the stairs was an adventure. He could have taken the elevator, but explaining the reason he was carrying a pair of young men into his apartment would have been difficult, should he be seen. Loz, who was more or less dry, seemed perfectly happy to be deposited in an armchair, where he curled up with a soft sigh. Yazoo, on the other hand, needed care. Now. Tseng carried him into the bathroom and stripped him down. That wound needed seeing to.

Nearly an hour later, Tseng settled Yazoo carefully on the couch and draped a blanket over him. Everything he could fix had been fixed, and everything else had been given a forceful shove in the general direction of fixing itself. He stretched, relishing the pops the movement worked out of his spine. The next item on the agenda was Loz. Namely, his leg.

"Loz?"

"Mmnn?" Loz mumbled, blinking sleepily.

"Wake up. I need to set your leg."

"'m leg's fine."

"No, it's not. Come on."

"Wanna sleep." Tseng sighed. Getting to Loz to cooperate looked like it was going to be harder than he'd thought.

Right again. What should have been less than a twenty-minute procedure became an hour-and-a-half long ordeal. When it was over, Loz was hopping around with a spray-on cast, and Tseng was nursing a headache in the kitchen.

_This,_ he thought venomously, _is why I don't have children._


	2. Trying to make nice

Sorry it took so long, I got hung up on something else. Well, here we see Tseng get a little out of character, but it's a good thing. He may think he's not cut out to have kids, but I think he's doing pretty good, don't you?

* * *

Some time later, Tseng was slumped in the living room window seat, nursing a cup of_ very_ strong tea and staring out at the rain. Loz, patched up, fed, and dressed in a pair of Tseng's pajamas, was sound asleep in the guest room. Yazoo still lay on the couch. Tseng was running scenarios through his mind, trying to work out exactly what should be done with his unexpected houseguests. Since they were supposed to be dead, there was an immediate problem there. Then, of course, there was the little matter involving Rude and Reno receiving a lovely beating, and the President being grilled by the youngest, thankfully absent, brother, and, of course, the fact that he and Elena had been captured and tortured, an ordeal that he was still sore from. Technically, they were an enemy to ShinRa and anyone who worked for it, with Tseng being the only apparent exception, for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom.

"What am I going to do with them?" he muttered. Leaving them here didn't seem right. It was along the same lines as leaving children alone, despite the fact that they both seemed to be in their mid to late teens. Taking them to work would be asking for trouble. He certainly couldn't hire a babysitter. Could he stay here and watch them, maybe for a few days, until he worked out a more permanent solution? "That's the only thing I _can_ do."

Rufus Shinra's cell phone rang. He groaned and fumbled around on the counter for it.

"Hello?"

"Sir? This is Tseng."

"_Tseng_? Why are you calling so late?"

"Something has come up sir. I need to take a couple of days off."

"And you're telling me this _now_?"

"It was unexpected sir, but I-"

"Not that. Why did you decide to call tonight?"

"Tomorrow morning, my apartment is going to be engulfed in chaos. If I don't tell you now, I won't get a chance to."

"Relatives?"

"Something like that," Tseng muttered.

"I see. Take the rest of the week off, and I'll see you on Monday."

"Thank you sir."

"Goodnight." Rufus hung up. So did Tseng.

_Thank God. Now I've got four days to figure out what to do with these kids. I need to…better make a list._

Impress my seniority- what I say goes

Lay down some rules

Find appropriate clothing- Mine won't do

Grocery Shopping

Confiscate weaponry

Ask questions- any special needs? Allergies? Sore points?

Hide anything they shouldn't see/know about

Remember: they're just kids

Get them to trust me

"And that should do it." Tseng said, finally, capping the pen and rereading the list.

_Now all I can do is hope this works out._

When morning came, Tseng allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in a bit. A bit was classified, in his book anyway, as no later than 7:00 o'clock. This morning, it was closer to 6:30. Tseng was an early riser.

The apartment was quiet when he woke up, and it was a painful reminder of how crazy things were going to get later on. Ignoring the voice at the back of his head that was telling him _exactly_ how much trouble he was in, Tseng went to make a cup of tea.

Loz hobbled in around 8 o'clock, ruffled, groggy, and with as many questions as a toddler. Tseng made him a cup of tea, heavy on the milk and sugar, and made French toast while he answered questions…

"Aren't you a Turk?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work, then?"

"I've got time off."

"What're you making?"

"French toast."

"What's a French?"

"I have no idea." Loz paused, giving Tseng a curious look. It was as if he didn't quite believe Tseng didn't have the answer to everything. "Really."

"What's your name?"

"Why?" Tseng countered, growing bored with twenty questions. Loz looked taken aback.

"You're supposed to know people's names," he said, sounding a little unsure. "And you know _mine_."

"Tseng."

"What?"

"I'm Tseng." Tseng was allowed a few minutes of peace while Loz had fun saying his name, deliberately mispronouncing it because he seemed to like the sound of it. Then Loz had another question.

"Where's my brother?"

"On the couch in the living room, asleep."

"I meant my littlest brother."

"Kadaj?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, really, but I was told that he…well, died isn't the word for it. He returned to the Life Stream."

"He…did?" Loz asked slowly. Tseng nodded. Loz looked confused, like he couldn't decide whether to cry or get angry. "H-how do you know? Were you there?"

"I wasn't."

"Why _not_?" Loz made it sound as if Tseng had been obligated to be there. It annoyed Tseng.

"Because I was getting the President out of the rescue nets we had to catch him in."

"You could have stopped him," Loz muttered, and Tseng knew he meant Kadaj.

"_How_?" he asked. "Less than a week ago, I was beaten so badly I nearly died; _would_ have died, if someone hadn't come and saved me. After that, I was trying to track down my employer and praying he wouldn't do something rash, which he _did_. I had no idea what was going on, and wasn't informed until after it was too late to do anything. And why would I have stopped him? I didn't know what he was, where he was, or what to do about it." Loz flinched, and Tseng felt a little guilty.

"You're helping _us_," he whimpered. Tseng went from slightly guilty to very guilty.

"That's different," he said.

"How?"

"You need help. And you aren't trying to kill me or destroy the Planet, which is a plus." That made Loz smile a little. Granted, it was a weak smile, but a smile all the same. "And I…I didn't know."

"Know what?"

"How young you are."

"We aren't that young," Loz sniffed.

"You're still teenagers. That's young, as far as I'm concerned."

"That, or you're just old."

"Not old. Just feeling like it. Speaking of which, how old are you two?" With the rather dangerous topic of Kadaj's death out of the way for now, Tseng felt quite a bit safer.

"I think I'm nineteen…and Yazoo is…two years younger, maybe. I don't really know. It never mattered before. Does it matter now?"

"Yes and no. I think your guess may be a year or two over the truth, in which case both of you are minors, which may or may not raise problems in the future. Of course, either one of you being a legal adult could raise just as much trouble, so don't worry about it. I was just curious." Tseng slid four slices of French toast out of the pan and onto a plate. "Here."

Loz eyed the toast. Tseng sighed.

"You eat it. I like it with chocolate syrup, but that's just me. Try the maple- that one." He pointed, and watched as Loz carefully examined the syrup before drenching his toast with it.

"You sound like Kadaj," he muttered. "He loved sweets. Chocolate for _breakfast_…yech."

"There's nothing wrong with chocolate," Tseng sniffed, flipping his toast.

"The way _you_ eat it? Yeah, there is. _Gross_," Loz added, watching Tseng apply syrup. "That's _disgusting_."

"And I think maple is revolting, so we're even." In an uncharacteristic lapse of manners, Tseng mumbled this last around a mouthful of chocolaty French toast. Loz snorted and returned his attention to his own breakfast.

Tseng left Loz with a second plate of toast and took a cup of weak tea into the living room to check up on Yazoo. He was in luck. Yazoo had rolled onto his back and managed to push himself into a partially upright position, silently observing his surroundings. His eyes widened when he saw Tseng.

"_You_," he whispered, and Tseng hated how his voice was fearful and shocked.

"I'm Tseng."

"Kadaj said you were dead." Yazoo's voice was raspy and quiet, evidence of the cough Tseng hadn't been quite sure how to treat the night before.

"Almost, but not quite. I'm still recovering, though. How're you feeling?" Yazoo didn't answer, and gave the mug a look that Tseng usually reserved for possibly fatal substances. Clearly, he wouldn't be as easy to befriend as his bother had been. Granted, this was usually a good thing, but it made life that much harder for Tseng. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"I don't believe you."

"Do you want me to drink from it, to prove that I'm right?"

"You're a Turk," Yazoo spat. "You're unnatural. Who knows what you can do."

"_I_ know what I can do, and I can assure you that I have no access to the poisons that I am immune to. Therefore, I can't trick you into drinking something toxic. Loz told me that you haven't eaten in five days. You need to get something into your system."

"Loz is here?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Eating breakfast in the kitchen."

"Is he alright? His leg was-"

"He's fine. I patched him up after I took care of you." Yazoo looked surprised.

"When?"

"Last night."

"I don't remember it."

"You were unconscious. And you would have stayed that way, if Loz hadn't agreed to let me help you." Yazoo glared at Tseng. "Okay, listen. I'm not holding anything against you or Loz. I'm alive and functioning, and that is all that matters as far as our previous contact is concerned. At the moment, _you_ need care and both of you need a place to stay. I am offering both. I suggest you get over whatever it is that's keeping you from trusting me, because it's just the three of us here, and life is going to be a _lot_ harder if you insist on being such a little brat. Now drink the damn tea!" Tseng shoved the mug into Yazoo's hands and stormed off to take a shower.

In the shower, it took Tseng a grand total of three minutes to feel guilty for yelling at Yazoo. The kid was hurt, sick, and in a strange environment with a man who he had helped torture. It was natural to be hostile.

"I wasn't meant to be caring for children," Tseng muttered, turning the shower's temperature down until it was cold enough to wake him up properly. Then he turned it back to a more tolerable temperature and continued with his shower.


End file.
